“Earsling,” a harsh voice challenged me from beside the Wheatsheaf’s hearth. “What rancid demon brought you here to spoil my day?” I stared. And stared. Because the last person I had ever expected to see in Æthelred’s stronghold of Gleawecestre was staring at me. “Well, earsling?” he demanded, “what are you doing here?” It was my father.
Honestly love this so much
